


get up, get up (and party)

by seunghyuk (orphan_account)



Series: if we fall in love (all night) [1]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, but must not necessarily be interpreted as such, but they will be endgame if i ever finish this series, it's one sided though, jihoon is kind of an asshole, not much romantic jinseob in this one if i'm honest, party!au, plot doesn't start until like 3k words in i'm serious, rated for underage drinking and cursing, this is mostly crack, way more 2park than i originally had in mind, woojin!centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/seunghyuk
Summary: woojin's idea of a good time consists of sitting in the corner, stuffing his face with chips and running away from jihoon.hyungseob swoops in to save the day. shenanigans ensue.or:the "we keep meeting at parties and we're the only two that aren't drunk and in the mood to dance!AU" that no one ever asked for





	get up, get up (and party)

**Author's Note:**

> so this was originally supposed to be a 2park thing, except that my writer responsibilities made me turn it into jinseob halfway through. i didn't wanna let go of the 2park though, so i made woojin have an unrequited crush on jihoon instead. it kind of escalated (hence the 5 seconds of angst everytime jihoon is mentioned). hyungseob doesn't appear until like 5k words in, just a heads up. 
> 
> also, if woojin behaves like he has never in his life touched a drop of alcohol, it's because that's what i was going for. might or might not be based on real life events. i know the reason woojin doesn't drink in this makes no sense but i couldn't think of anything else, i'm sorry.
> 
> the maknae line is aged up by a couple of months, just enough for the college setting to work. the hyungs are aged down by however much it takes for this to make sense.
> 
> title is taken from produce 101's very own "super hot"

the first hour passes by just fine, really.

  
when woojin and daehwi finally locate daniel’s house, somewhere in a quaint street ten minutes from the next bus stop, it’s 8.30pm and they’re a good thirty minutes late already.

it wasn’t them, it was the traffic, daehwi insists as he vigorously rings the doorbell for five seconds straight, before moving on to repeatedly jabbing his finger into it because their friends are assholes who turn up the music too loud.

really, it had been daehwi running late after vocal lessons, the sacred potato salad for tonight’s supposed bbq party at daniel’s house still unmade. and then after that, it had been woojin who’d purposely looked for the latest bus because who cares about timely attendance at parties anyway, right. and now it’s their friends who won’t open the door for them.

yeah right. blame it on daniel, woojin thinks. damn it daniel.

ding. ding. ding-ding-ding, goes the doorbell as daehwi continues to be an impatient little shit. woojin takes out his phone and scrolls through the messages flooding their groupchat –

“ _open the door please and thank you_ ” [ha sungwoon, 07:50pm] he reads. ding-ding-ding goes daehwi. then: “ _would you please open the door_ ” [ha sungwoon, 07:52pm]. ding. ding-ding. and then: “ _we said opEN the door you disrespectful little shits_ ” [yoon jisung, 07:55pm]. the messages stop there. five minutes aren’t so bad woojin guesses.

by some miracle (read: “ _guys can sb please open the door_ ” [me, 08:32pm] and possibly also the force of daehwi’s incessant ringing), it only takes them three minutes this time. when woojin finally looks up from his phone after having scrolled through another ten minutes of discourse about seongwoo banning the economics majors from their party, daniel is standing in the door grinning wildly at them. widely, woojin means. either way works.

woojin gives him a crooked smile; then turns to moonbok standing to daniel’s left for whatever reason and gives him a court nod.

“want a drink?” moonbok asks.

“what?” woojin asks while kicking off his shoes.

moonbok raises his perfectly arched eyebrows at him. ah. wrong reaction.

“uhm i mean no thanks,” woojin mumbles. “…maybe later,” he tacks on quickly, after shoving his shoes somewhere to the side. behind him, daehwi is happily talking to daniel about, who knows really, and possibly accepting moonbok’s offer despite being violently underage. like the better half of this entire party. ah yes, the joys of underage drinking, woojin thinks. the ones he won’t be experiencing tonight.

and really, that’s it. that’s the problem.  
  


when he enters the living space, the lights are dimmed already. there’s an opened bottle of tequila on the kitchen counter, a couple of shot glasses next to it. to the right, there’s some more bottles of alcohol he can’t identify, another row of shot glasses, one half of a lemon and finally, a loaf of bread.

neat, woojin thinks. dry bread for dinner it is. somewhere in the back he spots a lone bottle of cola and silently hopes there’s more. (there isn’t).

the actual living room looks similarly barren – about half the people have arrived (who cares about timely attendance at parties anyway, woojin reminds himself) most of which are unceremoniously seated on a bench in front of what woojin assumes is the kangs’ dining table.

sungwoon is dealing cards to taehyun, kenta, donghan and now also daehwi apparently, in a thrilling game of alcohol-related card game that woojin isn’t familiar with, while yongguk is slumped in a chair across from them, peacefully sipping on what might be a cup of cola. woojin isn’t sure.

(it is indeed cola, woojin learns later as he sits on the other end of the bench, engaged in some meaningless conversation with yongguk who looks both dead inside and like he’d rather be anywhere but here. mood, woojin thinks and proceeds to dump another handful of chips into his mouth).  
  


after watching daehwi (16) take three generous sips of some probably alcoholic cola concoction that just. uhm. magically appeared in front of him? and seeing his life flash before his eyes as he wonders whether youngmin will kill daehwi or him first when they come home tonight, he finally spots jinyoung at the far end of the dinner table, looking slightly lost and also bored.

bae jinyoung his savior, bless his innocent soul. jinyoung waves at him and motions for him to sit on the bench to which woojin happily complies. that is, until he realizes there’s no space left on the bench.

jinyoung. what.

woojin shoots jinyoung an irritated look but asks (read: kicks) daehwi to scoot over anyway. daehwi turns around and raises his eyebrows at him, then proceeds to give woojin (18 and drinkless) a brief once over before doing a quick _fighting!_ and finally making space for him.

woojin scoffs in disbelief. the audacity.

“so, when’d you get here?” he asks jinyoung after finally settling down on the bench.  
“what?!” jinyoung shouts.  
“when did you get here?!” woojin repeats.  
“over there!” jinyoung shouts and points to the kitchen counter.

jinyoung. what.

this is when moonbok decides to turn up the volume on the stereo system that has conveniently been set up right next to woojin. dude, woojin doesn’t say but attempts to convey through the look he gives moonbok. moonbok just shrugs and gives him an apologetic smile in return. woojin sighs in exasperation.  
the music isn’t even good.  
  


for the next five minutes or so, woojin finds himself watching the hyungs ft. daehwi play their cultivated game of _i turn over this card and then you drink_ to the sound of keith ape’s it g ma. at some point jinyoung decides to get another drink, leaving woojin to sit in silence all by himself. nevermind the part about blessing his soul.

for lack of anything better to do, woojin moves to start a conversation with yongguk who is absentmindedly staring into a bag of chips.

“you don’t really want to be here either, hm?” he considers saying, but doesn’t. instead he makes a lame comment about the chips – “oh look, someone bothered to buy brand name chips” – that receives no response from yongguk, who, it appears, has fallen into a deep trance.

mood, woojin thinks and steals the bag of chips with the firm intention to monopolize them for the entire night. yongguk doesn’t budge. mood, woojin thinks again while shoveling the chips into his mouth.

then again, what about yongguk isn’t a mood, honestly.  
  


outside, daniel, seongwoo and a couple of other people that woojin doesn’t recognize have set up a game of beer pong.

they’re promptly joined by moonbok (this is his chance to take over the music station, woojin thinks for a brief second, but then decides to resign himself to his fate anyway. what a shame that his fate sounds like a montage of bad smtm auditions) who has terrible hand-eye coordination, woojin realizes and, to woojin’s surprise, also by minhyun who instantly lands a throw. and then proceeds to down an entire cup in one go even though it’s not even his turn.

there goes the image of the calm, collected and wise hyung woojin had crafted in his mind; a result of the various times minhyun had force fed him vegetables with a side of life changing advice.

well. it was good while it lasted, he guesses.  
  


at around 9.00pm, woojin is rudely awoken from the state of peaceful half-slumber he’d managed to bore himself into by the sound of loud hollering.

it’s the hyungs ft. daehwi – surprise – who are celebrating the late arrival of jaehwan with shrill cheers and what sounds like whooping, really, except that he refuses to call it that.

woojin figures it’s only polite if he at least acknowledges jaehwan’s arrival and directs a quick wave and a tired smile in his direction. jaehwan responds by patting his head and dumping a family sized bag of gummy bears on the table.

wait. since when is kim jaehwan is an angel? whatever – hereby, woojin officially declares jaehwan his new favorite hyung (unless donghyun, using whatever ethereal magic he seems to have at his disposal, manages to stop youngmin before he goes on a murderous rampage tonight. then woojin might have to reconsider). bless his caring soul. bae jinyoung who?

before woojin can share the happy news with jaehwan and actually thank him by. you know, casually saying thank you; nothing too exuberant, even though woojin’s frankly sad state of gummy bear-induced euphoria would warrant at least like, a hug, or so, jaehwan’s being dragged off to the kitchen-counter-turned-makeshift-bar by both jisung and minhyun.

“shots! shots! shots! shots!” someone (taehyun) in the back chants. woojin isn’t sure whether he’s actually that keen on seeing them taking shots or whether he’s simply taken to performing his own rendition of that one iconic song from the 2000s whose title woojin’s never bothered to look up. the one with lil jon or something.

thinking about it, he’d rather have moonbok play questionable 2000s party anthems than whatever is blasting from the speakers right now. if he’s gonna end up with damaged hearing because he sat next to the stereo for too long he should at least do it in style, right?  
  


by the time woojin has snapped out of his returning reverie about taking control of the ipad that has been precariously balanced on the speaker right next to him (he could just! do it! a voice in his head whispers. it bears a strange resemblance to that of shia labeouf) and bringing this whole party to a new level or something like that, the entire hyung society ft. daehwi and now also jinyoung, apparently, has gathered around the makeshift bar.

jaehwan and jisung are happily downing shots, while minhyun is brandishing a black sharpie, ready to tally tonight’s regrets on their arms.

woojin doesn’t think he’ll ever come to understand party culture or whatever this is, really, but with the way that minhyun is stumbling around right now, hand firmly grasping the uncapped sharpie, he thinks that someone might lose an eye tonight. woojin wouldn’t put it beyond them. but; fair enough, he figures. if party culture is losing your eye in a freak sharpie incident then so be it.

the ominous chanting picks up again as the rest of the hyungs and daehwi (jinyoung has safely distanced himself from the makeshift bar and appears to be examining a loaf of bread. woojin feels a sense of protectiveness flare up. that’s his bread. stay away with your filthy traitor hands, jinyoung) take turns with the shots. it’s entertaining to watch for a little while until woojin realizes that he’s eaten nearly a quarter of the (family-sized, he recalls in horror) bag of gummy bears and that the entire dining table has been deserted.

yongguk, woojin finds, is halfway through the door, already clad in his jacket, bag dangling from his shoulder.

“yongguk-hyung, you’re leaving already?” woojin shouts.  
yongguk turns around and shrugs.  
“okay, get home safely!” woojin says and raises his fist in a vague _fighting!_ motion.  
yongguk gives him a small smile and shuts the door behind him.

ah. what a brave soul, woojin thinks, hand reaching into the bag of chips only to find that it’s empty. there goes his last bit of motivation to spend another second glued to this bench.

he wishes he could just leave like that, one hour into the party. alas, he laments, the pressure of societal approval dictates that he’ll have to stay for at least another two hours or so. that, and he needs to make sure daehwi actually makes it home tonight or youngmin _will_ kill him, donghyun’s approval or not.

(woojin recalls the vaguely murderous glint he swears he’d seen in youngmin’s eyes earlier today.

“be back before 2am,” youngmin had said in his saccharine voice while casually chopping up the potatoes for daehwi’s potato salad, “or the two of you won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

yeah. because they’ll both be dead, that’s why.  _chop-chop-chop_ , goes flashback youngmin. woojin shudders. he’s too young to die like this.)

cool, woojin thinks as he turns to face the empty chairs in front of him.  
  
what to do now.

 

**to: _guanlinie_**

  
me  
_tfw ur at a party and_  
u have no idea whats going on  
[09:17pm]

 **guanlinie**  
_music department bbq party?  
_ [09:17pm]

 **me**  
_yeah_  
[09:18pm]

 _“””bbq party”””  
_ [09:19pm]

 _just think about all the_  
      _things i could be doing rn man_  
[09:19pm]

 _i could be practicing_  
[09:19pm]

 _sleeping_  
[09:19pm]

 _…_  
[09:19pm]

 _learning that poem for lit_  
[09:20pm]

 **guanlinie**  
_lol_  
[09:21pm]

 _and rip_  
[09:21pm]

 _...hyung_  
[09:21pm]

 **me**  
_…_  
[09:22pm]

 _for one chrysanthemum_  
_to bloom_  
[09:22pm]

 _a nightingale_  
[09:23pm]

 _has sobbed, since spring,_  
_perhaps_  
[09:23pm]

 **guanlinie**  
_pls stop hyung  
_ [09:23pm]

 **me**  
_lol idk how the rest_  
_goes anyway_  
[09:24pm]

  
**me**  
_guanlinie?  
_ [09:28pm]

 _talk to me im boreddd  
_ [09:28pm]

 _i can see that you’re on_  
[09:28pm]

 _that’s it im dropping_  
your traitorous ass  
[09:29pm]

 _along with jinyoungs_  
[09:29pm]

 **guanlinie**  
_lol ok hyung_  
[09:30pm]

 _have fun_  
[09:30pm]

**[ _guanlinie_ is offline]**

  
unbelievable, woojin mutters under his breath.  
kids these days.

 

* * *

 

the second hour, that’s when things start going just a little bit wrong.  
  


at 9:30pm sharp, woojin finally makes the decision to leave the sanctuary of the dining table to get himself a drink.

by now, the entire party – or what’s left of it, really – has moved on to the dance floor, leaving the kitchen counter empty. only daniel, seongwoo and three people he recognizes to be economics majors are still lingering around on the patio, casually talking. right. talk about banning the economics majors from this party, seongwoo.

judging by the number of people he’d seen in the groupchat compared to the relatively small crowd currently swaying around in the middle of daniel’s living room, however, woojin suspects there’s more people upstairs.

minhyun and jaehwan, for one, are nowhere to be seen. neither is jisung. there’s also this slightly shady-looking guy he doesn’t recognize that keeps disappearing every five minutes or so; except woojin doesn’t think he’s seen him step through the door to the living room even once today.  
party culture, huh.

by some miracle, woojin finds that the bottle of cola is only half empty when he finally makes it to the kitchen counter after first bumping into sungwoon and then into kenta and then into jinyoung who’d almost shouted his ear off asking if he’d seen daehwi anywhere. he hasn’t, actually. oh god. woojin tries to shake off the thought that daehwi might be passed out in a corner somewhere, missing an eye. shush. he’ll worry about that later.

for now, all that matters is that his loaf of bread has remained peacefully untouched.

in fact, woojin discovers while emptying the bottle of cola (that he’s pretty sure he’d seen one of the unfamiliar economic majors drink out of earlier. party culture, he tells himself, despite his obtrusive thoughts about foreign bacteria. just accept it), another loaf of bread had appeared sometime during the past hour.

not only that – he also finds two cartons of (brand name) orange juice right next to it. woojin doesn’t even like orange juice (he’s convinced he’s at least a little allergic to oranges, actually, but he’d never gotten around to confirming it), but bless you anyway stranger. you’re an angel. this party might suck, he might have damaged his hearing and daehwi might end up losing an eye tonight but at least dehydration isn’t on the agenda for today.

he’ll take that as a win. as donghyun always preaches: celebrate the small victories, woojin-ah.

right. the small victories.  
  


woojin casts one final longing glance at the still deserted dining table before he decides to venture into the corridor to find daehwi. either him, or anyone else besides himself – he’ll take anyone, really – who isn’t drunk and in the mood to dance. whichever he finds first.

no. whichever he finds, period.

armed with a chunk of bread from the loaf he’d finally claimed for himself by stealthily hiding it behind a bowl of fruit (he’s pretty sure that donghan had sent him a weird look for a second, actually, but, how is woojin supposed to know that creeping around the kitchen with a loaf of bread still isn’t socially acceptable even when half the people present are drunk off their minds? shut up donghan) and a cup of orange juice, woojin takes a big step over the puddle of tequila on the floor and towards the light beyond the door  –

only to run right into something solid. and breathing.

“woah. careful there,” the chest in front of him says, sounding every bit dead with a hint of sickness.

ah. it’s hyunbin.

(woojin remembers the explosion of messages in class when seongwoo had thought it would be a good idea to set off another passive aggressive argument in their groupchat. he’d never actually gotten what exactly they’d been arguing about, but it had ended with a curt, “ _whatever i’m not coming anyway guys, i’m sick_ ” [kwon hyunbin, 3:47pm])

“oh hyung,” woojin says, a little surprised but mostly just relieved that both his cup of orange juice and hyunbin’s expensive looking shirt are still intact, “i thought you weren’t coming today?”  
“i wasn’t going to,” hyunbin says and pauses.  
silence.  
“but?” woojin presses on.  
“i need a drink,” hyunbin says and pushes past woojin to disappear into the darkness of the kitchen.

yikes, woojin mutters. whatever that argument was about, it must’ve hit him hard. he makes a mental note to ask daehwi about it later – if he ever manages to find him, that is. (frankly enough, woojin’s just being dramatic. the house isn’t even that big; daehwi’s probably just gone to the bathroom. and fallen into the bathtub, maybe. he’ll be fine. yeah. totally).

faint hollering erupts from the living room. then, a loud “hyunbin are you _drinking_?” (donghan) followed by a “shut up” (hyunbin) and the sound of glass against glass. more shouting.  
well, woojin’s glad he got out of there in time.

(hah, he thinks in hindsight. jinxed yourself there, woojin.)  
  


the corridor appears to be mostly empty, save for the presence of jisung whose eyes immediately light up when he spots woojin lingering near the coatrack.

“woojinie!” he exclaims, visibly excited to be talking to him, “look at this.” jisung comes to a staggering halt right in front of him and shoves a pear in his face.

it’s –  well. it’s a pear, woojin guesses. not even a particularly pretty one, at that.

“it’s a pear, hyung,” he comments intelligently. jisung grins.

“i know!” he says, almost proudly and cradles it to his chest. he steps closer to woojin. “i stole it from daniel,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“oh cool,” woojin responds, trying his best to entertain his hyung, “what are you gonna do with it?”

jisung looks dumbfounded for a second, like he hadn’t exactly thought this theft through, (that’s because he probably hasn’t, woojin reminds himself. newsflash: drunk people do weird shit sometimes. god, woojin, get with the times) but then quickly catches himself and returns to his previous state of giggly enthusiasm.

“i’m gonna draw my face on it, duh!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

ah. of course. why didn’t woojin think of that.

“that’s a great idea, hyung,” he tells him. jisung nods happily and pads into the kitchen, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at woojin and telling him there’s more in the fruit bowl next to the sink. yeah, thank you hyung. he’s noticed.  
  


there’s a set of stairs right next to the front door that probably leads to the bedrooms but woojin choses to aimlessly linger around the coatrack for another while.

he reckons daniel wouldn’t really mind if he went upstairs to find himself some deserted balcony or something – besides, he’s pretty sure minhyun and jaehwan must be upstairs too, if the faint sounds of slightly off-key singing and aggressive guitar strumming are anything to go by. but still, he’d rather not.

who knows, maybe daehwi really did just go to the bathroom and is going to come out any second now. woojin should wait here just in case, so that he can drag daehwi back to the living room where he can safely keep an eye on him for the remaining duration of the night, in the peaceful company of his only friend: the bench.

no, he’s not just making up excuses to return to the bench he’s suddenly come to love. that’s ridiculous.

woojin starts rummaging through the pile of jackets on the shelf under the coatrack just to look occupied lest donghan shows up again to judge his socially questionable actions or something. he’s pretty sure he’d buried his bag somewhere beneath his and daehwi’s jacket, for safekeeping, even if the most valuable thing he keeps in there is really just a nearly completed loyalty card for the bbq place down the street from their apartment.

still, he should check, just in case. he doesn’t know what kind of rapacious and criminal people are walking these grounds, after all. he might only pass by their building two days a week, but the economics majors had always seemed a little greedy to him. and that shady guy who keeps disappearing into thin air? he totally looks like the type to steal loyalty cards for hole in the wall bbq places.  
  


really, it is now, that things start going just a little bit wrong.

woojin checks his watch to find that he still has plenty of time left to kill in this corridor (9:56pm, the offensive neon red of his watch blinks at him. why he’s wearing a watch that’s questionably designed to look like a bomb, he isn’t too sure either.)

sighing, he bends down to swoop through another load of jackets and bags on the other end of the shelf where he thinks he saw a flash of his keychain, when he spots something out of the corner of his eye.

he freezes. straightens up to make sure it isn’t just the blood flowing to his head.

it isn’t.  
oh god.

there, across the room, amongst the barrage of shoes blocking the front door, he finds a nice pair of black sneakers. they’re just plain black adidas superstars, nothing flashy. completely harmless. for the first time in three and a half years, woojin thinks he’d actually wear those – so really, there’s no reason why he feels a bout of slow anxiety rising in his chest.

no reason at all.

if only it weren’t for the mismatched neon shoelaces.

 

* * *

 

woojin isn’t entirely sure how he ends up in the backyard, but by the time he realizes that daniel, seongwoo and their circle of technically banned economic majors are staring at him – standing out in the rain, hands on his knees and panting –  his hair is wet and his socks are completely soaked.

serves him right for being over-dramatic, he guesses.

“you okay?” daniel asks and breaks away from his group to pat woojin, now in the process of hacking up his lungs, on his back. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost man.”

nah, daniel. no ghosts, don’t worry. just jihoon’s voice bouncing off the walls of the staircase. a proper scare, really.

“i’m fine, thanks,” woojin coughs out and steps away from the wet grass. he grimaces at the feeling of water sloshing between his toes. disgusting.

“you sure?” daniel presses on, being the good hyung he is. woojin wills his face into an expression of nonchalance and nods eagerly.

“everything’s okay,” he says and gives daniel a tight-lipped smile that hurts his cheeks, “just dandy,” he continues because daniel still doesn’t look too convinced. cough. cough-cough. “just chilling,” he tacks on and shoots fingerguns at daniel.

fingerguns. god, woojin. what the fuck are you doing.

daniel raises his eyebrows at him but smiles anyway, before doing fingerguns back at him. bless his kind heart. woojin hears seongwoo snicker from somewhere behind daniel.

(the economic majors remain silent but are visibly amused by woojin’s struggles. the judging kind of amused, not the sympathetic one. welp. woojin wonders if there’s any way to completely steer clear of the economics buildings on his way to practice. guess he’ll have to show up a little late next tuesday.)

daniel makes to leave but woojin has half a mind to grab his wrist.

“wait, daniel-hyung,” he says, almost stumbling over the ledge of the patio. he pulls daniel down to his height. “did you invite jihoon?”

daniel looks surprised at the question. “park jihoon, you mean?” he asks and carefully pries woojin’s fingers off his wrist.

ah, yeah. woojin quickly retracts his hand and mutters a quiet “sorry” while simultaneously nodding at daniel’s question.

“i don’t think so. must’ve been jinyoung or so.”

jinyoung. why.

“i thought you two were close?” daniel questions, voice tinged with concern because kang daniel is a good hyung; we get it. either that or he’s having a hard time understanding woojin’s antics. he suspects it might be the latter, actually.

“ah, uhm – no, we are,” woojin stutters out. how convincing. “we just. uhm,” he stammers. daniel looks at him expectantly. “we had a small fallout?”

“aha.” daniel nods, looking both sceptic and pitying at the same time. woojin doesn’t know how he makes it work, but he does.

“well, i think today would be a great occasion to sort it out, right?” he finally says after a good half a minute or so of staring right past woojin into the distance.

 no, woojin doesn’t think so, actually.

“sure,” he chokes out. daniel gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “good,” he says, grinning. woojin thinks he sees a spark of evil in those kind eyes. “because jihoonie’s right there,” daniel finishes and waves at somebody behind woojin.

traitor.

 

(it goes like this:  
  
park jihoon and park woojin are the best of friends. bound together by their birth year, a habit of shying away from large groups and a passion for dancing they brave their embarrassing high school years side by side – not inseparable, but almost. that is, until woojin develops a big fat crush on jihoon.

yikes.

“yah, woojin.” jinyoung approaches him one day. woojin doesn’t respond, too busy staring off into the distance. the distance being jihoon, whose classroom is conveniently situated right across from where woojin is sitting in the courtyard, aimlessly poking his fork into his still uneaten salad.

“woojin,” jinyoung tries again and noisily drops his tray onto the table. to his dismay, woojin is forcefully shaken out of his reverie, violently banging his knee against the underside of the table in the process. jinyoung. why.

“what do you want jinyoung,” woojin sighs and rubs at his throbbing knee while glaring at jinyoung. that’s what you get for staring at jihoon like a lovesick teenager woojin, he tells himself.

“that’s what you get for staring at jihoon-hyung like a lovesick teenager woojin,” jinyoung says and proceeds to sit down across from him, effectively blocking his view of jihoon. woojin is just about to unconsciously agree with him, when –

“wait.”

jinyoung stops mid movement, chopsticks full of rice halfway to his mouth.

“i don’t have a crush on jihoon, okay.”

“i never said that,” jinyoung says and resumes his eating, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at him. “thanks for confirming it though.”

woojin’s fork slips and makes a terrible screeching noise against his ceramic plate.

he makes a point to avoid both jihoon and jinyoung for the rest of the day.

  
woojin doesn’t know how he does it, but he lives through another year without slipping up.

it’s just this side of painful, really, watching jihoon being gross with his girlfriend right in front of his face; exactly like it’s just this side of painful to be one who comes climbing through jihoon’s window in the middle of the night when they finally break up after a month of passive aggressively arguing with each other. woojin prides himself on being a good shoulder to cry on, despite everything, even if jihoon never actually sheds any tears.

jihoon falls asleep on his shoulder eventually, after rambling about nothing in particular for two hours. woojin doesn’t sleep that night and shows up to school looking like death, jihoon clinging to his arm like a lost puppy. both daehwi and jinyoung shoot him pitying looks when they pass him in the hallway.  
he wasn’t even aware that daehwi knows. well, whatever. jinyoung probably told him.

woojin should unfriend him as soon as possible.

  
they’re two months into university when woojin finally fucks up.

it’s dumb, the way it happens. stupid. so stupid woojin wants to punch himself. so stupid woojin decides he can never talk to jihoon again. not that he needs to anyway, because the one time he does, jihoon nods curtly and then walks away like he’s in a hurry to get away from him.

woojin feels his heart breaking, crack, straight down the middle. it’s just this side of painful, he swears.

at least jinyoung stops bothering him about it at lunch.

celebrate the small victories, woojin-ah.)

 

* * *

 

the second hour has passed when woojin finally decides that it’s safe to leave his hiding spot behind daniel’s garage.  
  


(he’d made himself comfortable on a ratty deck chair he’d found half stuck in a bush.

at one point, he’s pretty sure jihoon had passed right by the other side of the garage, but his voice had quickly been drowned out by the sound of sungwoon yelling about the kangs’ red porsche. woojin isn’t surprised to find that when he finally unlocks his phone, it’s to a series of photos of sungwoon, jaehwan and donghan posing in front of the car.

it _is_ a nice car, woojin must admit. he spots jihoon’s neon green shoelaces in one of the photos and makes a point to crop him out of the photo. call him petty, but there’s some things he’s just gotta do for himself.)

when he creeps back into the living room after sending both kenta and taehyun (both of them too drunk to question why woojin was suspiciously traipsing around the kitchen) to check, the makeshift dance floor is nearly deserted.

jinyoung is awkwardly bouncing around in the corner, trying to keep up with sungwoon, taehyun and kenta who look like they’re having the time of their lives, despite the lackluster atmosphere.

daehwi – woojin finally remembers, now that his head isn’t clouded with frantic thoughts about getting away from jihoon – still hasn’t reappeared. neither has minhyun. woojin supposes he can’t be too wrong if he just assumes that they’re both passed out in the upstairs bathroom. daehwi has always had a thing for sleeping in bathtubs, after all.

the music, he notices after a second of quietly laughing at jinyoung’s ridiculous dance moves, actually sounds decent for once. woojin doesn’t recognize the song, nor does he recognize the person currently manning the ipad that still looks like it’s about to fall off the couch every second now, but he’s grateful. it’s still not good per se, but it’s passable. woojin would actually dance to it, if he had it in him to dance right now. alas, he’s on the run from jihoon.

(moonbok is swaying around to the music in the corner of the room, dangerously close to an intricate looking figure of human-like objects stacked on top of each. he appears to be completely unfazed about the loss of control over the music. damn it, woojin thinks. he should’ve taken his chance earlier.)

bathing in the momentary peacefulness of being away from jihoon, who he’d last seen climbing up the stairs (he’d been watching through the crack of the kitchen door), woojin makes his way back to his beloved, the bench –

only to find that his spot directly next to the speakers has been occupied.

excuse me. what.

not only that, the stranger, who looks no older than woojin himself, is currently munching on _his_ gummy bears, a cup of _his_ orange juice in his left hand.

unbelievable.

woojin makes sure to steer clear of him, not keen on making small talk with a stranger (especially not this particular thieving individual) and moves to sit down on the other end of the bench instead. except the stranger choses this particular moment to finally look up, eyes lighting up when he spots woojin awkwardly lingering in front of the dining table.

there goes his plan of moping around all by himself for the rest of the night.

the stranger waves excitedly and motions for woojin to come and sit with him. for a second woojin thinks he might be trying to communicate with somebody else and briefly looks over his shoulder, but the stranger shakes his head frantically and points to him.

why. why him of all people.

(woojin recalls what he’d said to himself just an hour ago; something about finding anyone besides himself – _he’ll take anyone, really_ , he remembers thinking – who isn’t drunk and in the mood the dance. he doesn’t know if this guy’s drunk or not, but he doesn’t appear to be in the mood to dance so there’s that. woojin should really learn to keep his thoughts in check, lest he jinxes himself again.)

“you’re not drunk,” is the first the stranger says once woojin has carefully sat down on the chair across from him.

ah. woojin’s been expecting this question the entire night now, has breached himself for the skepticism dripping off people’s voices – but hearing it from a stranger; that comes unexpected.

he thought it would be donghan or someone similarly inclined to snoop around in other people’s business. no – instead it’s this stranger who’s looking at him with curious eyes, not a hint of malice in his voice. the small victories are really on to him tonight.

“yeah,” woojin answers hesitantly, “i have, uhm, a thing, tomorrow. early in the morning.”

the final rehearsal for their dance showcase, at 7.30 in the morning to be exact, but what does it matter to the stranger anyway. thinking about it, he doesn’t know why he thought it would be a good idea to show up to this party in the first place. or how youngmin set their curfew at 2am when he knows exactly that woojin’s not going to make it out of bed in time tomorrow if he’s not asleep by midnight. responsible adult, yeah right.

(hypocrite, woojin’s rationale whispers. shut up. he might be 18, but he’s not even legal yet.)

“oh, cool,” the stranger says and nods in acknowledgment, but then stops himself. “or not, i guess. what kinda thing?” 

woojin wants to be annoyed, but the guy is looking at him with such a pure expression, he doesn’t have it in him to be an asshole. (besides, he’s kind of cute, woojin has to admit. even shredded in the half-darkness of the living room.)

“uhm. a dance thing,” woojin responds carefully. aha, woojin. a dance thing. thrilling. “final rehearsal, i mean. i have a showcase on sunday,” he adds and scratches the back on his neck sheepishly.

woojin doesn’t know if it’s physically possible, but he swears he sees the stranger’s eyes twinkle.

(he quit physics in his first year of high school, while jihoon had braved another two years of it, whining to woojin about it every thursday afternoon – but even with his limited knowledge, woojin’s aware that eyes don’t usually. well, twinkle. there isn’t even any proper source of light that could possibly be reflected by the guy’s eyes. all the stress must be finally getting to woojin.)

“you dance? that’s so cool!” the guy exclaims, voice laced with genuine surprise.

part of woojin wants to point out how he’s currently attending a party hosted _by_ students of the music department, originally intended _for_ students of the music department, but he keeps his mouth shut about it. instead he nods shyly and gives the stranger a grateful smile.

he wonders whether the guy can sense his discomfort. because if he can, then he’s doing a good job talking right over it.

“i dance sometimes! but not really. mostly for fun,” the stranger continues, “and mostly girl to group songs, honestly. do you know any girl group dances?” he asks eagerly.

woojin shakes his head. he does, actually, because who doesn’t honestly; had learned all the steps to red velvet’s russian roulette for fun with jihoon once, but the guy doesn’t need to know that. woojin doesn’t wanna risk being dragged out onto the dancefloor to demonstrate his girl group dancing abilities. they’re superb, don’t get him wrong, but – still. besides, it reminds too much him of jihoon.

ah right. jihoon.

while woojin hasn’t exactly been enjoying the stranger’s company, this he must give him: he hasn’t wasted a single thought worrying about jihoon’s whereabouts since the stranger started talking to him, preoccupied with trying not to make himself look like a fool.

but now that jihoon’s suddenly back in the picture he can’t help but to remember that he’s sitting here, out in the open where jihoon would spot his red hair the second he walks through the living room door. and there’s no way to know where jihoon’s currently running around – what if he’s about to enter the living room this instant? what if he sees woojin and suddenly has the idea to confront him about his rooftop escapade in the middle of the dance floor?

woojin wouldn't know.

(jihoon’s never been the type for public confrontation, actually; shies away from it even, but lord knows what the boy’s gonna do under the influence of alcohol. despite their years of friendship – whatever may be left of that now – woojin has never actually seen him drunk. tipsy, yes, but off-key karaoke and accidentally knocking his mother’s vase off the table while dancing to snsd’s gee had been the height of that.)

“hi? sorry?” the stranger frowns and snaps his finger in woojin’s face.

woojin is momentarily ripped out of his thoughts about jihoon. right. what was that about learning to keep his thoughts in check? woojin figures he should probably be thankful for the stranger. another second of reminiscing about jihoon and he would’ve started tearing up or something dumb like that. get your shit together, woojin.

“sorry, i was just thinking about something,” woojin mutters and shoots the guy an apologetic grin.

that’s right woojin. charm away the bad impression with your snaggletooth.

“it’s okay, i was rambling anyway,” the stranger says kindly and proceeds to continue with his rambling. whatever he’s talking about must be very interesting because the guy’s wildly gesturing around with his hands, narrowly missing woojin’s face in the process. woojin would love to listen to him, despite having to subtly duck every few seconds. after he figures out where is jihoon is, that is.

“uhm, i don’t wanna be rude, but i don’t think you’re listening to me,” the guy says again, tapping him on the shoulder hesitantly.

woojin almost topples over in his chair in his attempt to scan the vicinity for jihoon’s presence, but the stranger manages to push him back in time. he should really start showing more respect to this guy. he’s been doing nothing but saving his ass the entire time, really.

woojin mumbles another apology and settles for intently observing the living room door instead.

to his surprise, the guy doesn’t resume his rambling. instead, when woojin turns around slightly to check, he finds the guy right next to him, his head just a few centimeters away from woojin’s. he has half a mind not to flinch away at their sudden proximity.

“are you looking for somebody?” the stranger asks, eyes following woojin’s line of sight to the living room door. woojin should really work on being more subtle with his actions.

(there’s a reason he’d never succeeded in trying to make his feelings for jihoon go away by avoiding him.

he’d always made it too obvious – the avoiding part, that is – and jihoon had always ended up confronting him about it until woojin would spin a childish lie; something about being annoyed at jihoon because he’d refused to treat him for lunch or some bullshit like that. jihoon had always swallowed it easily though, despite woojin’s beyond lacking acting skills.

sometimes woojin wonders if maybe, somewhere in the back of his head, jihoon had simply known it all along.)

“yeah,” woojin admits. he doesn’t know if he’s being impolite but seeing as he hasn’t exactly been leaving the best impression in the first place, he might just as well. “short guy, reddish-brown hair.”

great description, woojin. that could just as well be sungwoon who’s trying to do the macarena to the tune of shape of you, right in the middle of the living room. or kenta. or anyone, really.

“your local pretty boy,” woojin adds as an afterthought but regrets it almost immediately after.

(it’s true though, he supposes. if jihoon isn’t the epitome of pretty boy next door, then who is?)

“oh, you mean jihoon?” the stranger says, eyes twinkling in recognition.

woojin’s momentarily taken aback by his response, before he remembers that, yeah. jihoon has other friends. outside of whatever has remained of their tight circle of high school friends. unlike him, apparently.

(it’s not that woojin hasn’t made any new friends so far – it’s just that they’re mostly limited to members of the music department. otherwise he wouldn’t be here right now, he figures. then again, jihoon is a broadcasting major. that’s probably it. not woojin’s tendencies to isolate himself. nope.)

“you know jihoon?” woojin asks, nonetheless. wow. the first time he’s actually making an effort to actively communicate with the guy in front of him and it’s about jihoon. classic, really.

“who doesn’t.” the stranger shrugs. well, woojin wishes he didn’t, for one. but he’s right. who doesn’t know park jihoon.

(all the more difficult it is for woojin to avoid jihoon in social situations.

really, he should’ve known that jihoon would be invited to this party, music department-exclusive or not. and in a way, he had. just refused to believe it. he can’t run away from jihoon forever, after all; he’s well aware of that. but he’s gladly going to try as long as he still can. if it means he gets to pretend that jihoon doesn’t hate him just a little longer; if this is what it takes – then, yeah.

talk about being over-dramatic, huh.)

“but yeah, i have,” the stranger continues and points to the large row of windows on the other side of the living room, “seen him, i mean. he’s right out there.”

woojin’s eyes dart to where the guy is pointing; somewhere in the direction of the backyard – and oh, yeah. there he is. happily frolicking around in the rain with daniel. woojin isn’t sure what exactly they’re doing but it looks a little like they’re wrestling. or about to make out – woojin can’t tell. quite frankly, he doesn’t really wanna know anyway.

“is he usually like that?” the stranger asks, face way too close to woojin’s again. woojin decides not to comment on it. the guy’s just being nice, after all.

“uh, no. not really,” woojin answers. but he wouldn’t know now, would he. maybe jihoon’s suddenly had a change of heart since woojin accidentally told him he’s in love with him. it’s not woojin’s place to tell anymore. “but i’ve never seen him drunk, honestly,” he admits.

the guy nods absentmindedly, but then frowns. “i thought the two of you were close?” he asks.

now it’s woojin’s turn to frown. why does everyone think that? why does everyone wanna rub it in his face so bad? why can’t woojin be his own person for once?

(in high school jihoon and him had been notorious for being attached at the hip, a habit that had led the entirety of the student body to fondly refer to them as the “park brothers”. other than that, it had also led to a fair share of questions about whether they were sure they weren’t dating.

ah. that’s some crooked foreshadowing right there, woojin thinks.

a smeared drawing of the two of them as stick figures, captioned with the words “2park” and multiple hearts found in a girl’s bathroom had been the last straw; for jihoon at least. they’d promptly called an intervention in which they had made an agreement to be “more independent”. one that woojin had never actually agreed to.

still – they haven’t spent a single second attached to each other ever since they stepped foot on campus. but their reputation stuck apparently. even despite the radio silence that had fallen over them a month ago.

woojin wonders how long he’ll have to run away from jihoon to make it clear to everyone else that they’re not. well. friends anymore, apparently.)

woojin is about to retaliate, something about how no, him and jihoon aren’t close anymore, please let that idea go, when daniel suddenly decides to look up from where he’s trying to wrestle jihoon to the ground or something. just woojin’s luck, because this is exactly the moment he turns away from the stranger to make sure jihoon’s still caught up in his play fight with daniel.

needless to say, they make eye contact – daniel and him, over a distance of several meters, through the slightly clouded glass of the window. physical improbabilities, huh. something about his current predicament must really attract them.

woojin watches in horror as daniel’s angelic face contorts into something evil. jihoon’s still lying on the ground, half trapped under daniel’s leg, head turned the other direction. daniel bends down to him, whispers something in his ear and points to where woojin is still rooted to his chair.

if woojin runs away right now, he might make it behind the kitchen counter.

suddenly the stranger’s hand is in his, pulling him up.

“come,” the stranger says urgently and tugs him in the direction of the wall.

part of woojin wants to protest – excuse me, but the exit’s the other way – but jihoon’s in the process of untangling himself from daniel, looking determined to catch woojin before he runs away again. he doesn’t even know what jihoon’s got planned; isn’t even sure why he suddenly appears so eager to talk to him after not contacting him for a month. well, whatever it may be, woojin doesn’t want to find out. not tonight. and not with the way jihoon’s struggling to stand straight right now, toppling over every few seconds.

grudgingly, woojin lets himself be tugged along by the stranger, eyes still trained on jihoon’s figure.

“you wanna get away from jihoon, right?” the guy asks, steering them into the corner of the room determinedly. woojin nods weakly, but then realizes that the guy’s looking straight ahead and lets out a sceptic “yeah”, right as they come to a stop in front the back wall.

aha. cool. what now.

woojin looks over his shoulder to find that jihoon’s finally disentangled himself from daniel and is now marching in the direction of the patio door, daniel’s hands around his waist to steady him. woojin hopes he trips over the ledge of the patio.

(no, he doesn’t. he still cares about jihoon, despite everything. sometimes he wishes he didn’t.)

“trust me then,” the guy says firmly and promptly pushes woojin through the wall.

wait.

what.

 

* * *

 

here’s another kind of culture woojin will never come to understand:  
  


the room he finds himself in is flooded with soft light and set up like a conventional living room.

two leather couches frame a coffee table; a large tv mounted to the wall across from them. there’s another one of those intricate figures, right next to where woojin is rooted to the ground, still perplexed by the sudden change of location. oh, and a fire place. because that’s a rich people thing apparently. just like owning red porsches and having secret passageways to the actual living room. sure. why not.

“ta-da!” the stranger exclaims proudly, sliding the wall back into place, and plops himself down onto one of the expensive looking leather couches. “i told you to trust me, right?”

woojin nods slowly and approaches the couch, but remains standing, hands hovering over the backrest of the couch. this leather doesn’t look like it’s made to be tainted by his dirty jeans. or his dirty hands. or his dirty existence, while he’s at it. suddenly woojin feels a little out of place. not that he didn’t before. besides, he’s pretty sure he’s already ruined the incredibly soft carpet by stepping on it in his still wet socks.

serves daniel right for trying to sell him out like that. good hyung, his ass.

(woojin still takes a couple of steps back, so that his wet feet are mostly off the carpet. he feels sorry for daniel’s parents. it’s not their fault that they raised a traitor for a son. they’ll probably have to pay to get this dry-cleaned or something. he guesses there’s a reason why daniel has been keeping this particular part of the house a secret.)

“daniel-hyung used to tutor me in math,” the guy suddenly speaks up, feet casually propped up on the armrest. woojin wonders how many lessons he must’ve gotten from daniel for him to be able to walk around this carelessly in his house.

“cool,” he says instead, not quite understanding what the guy is trying to tell him.

“that’s why i know about the sliding walls,” the stranger continues and pushes his sock-clad foot against the leather. he pats the spot next to him, urging woojin to sit down.

“don’t worry about the leather, it’s fake”, the stranger promptly pulls him down onto the couch, “daniel-hyung told me,” he mock-whispers and continues to prod at the leather with his foot.

woojin suddenly becomes aware of their returning proximity; the stranger’s face hovering directly over his. except that in the bright light of the living room, the guy suddenly looks a lot prettier than he already did before. woojin feels himself growing red and subtly leans away from him, pressing his back further into the soft material of the couch.

“daniel-hyung knows where we are of course,” the guy starts to explain but doesn’t move away from woojin. either he isn’t getting the memo or he’s having way too much fun making woojin flustered.

(or maybe he’s just one of those people – the ones that love to get up close and personal, even with strangers. you know, like donghan. but less nosy. and nicer, he figures. woojin should really stop assuming the worst in people.

besides, with his complexion there’s no way the stranger can tell he’s blushing anyway; and no matter how bad his acting skills are, woojin would like to believe that he can at least maintain his composure well enough for the guy not to notice that his hands are beginning to sweat. which they aren’t. not at all.)

“but i doubt he and jihoon are gonna make it very far.” the stranger finally leans back in his seat, pulling his feet off the couch. “not with the way jihoon was downing those drinks earlier. poor boy must’ve had a really bad day.”

oh. that’s news to woojin.

as if on cue, a loud crash rings through the wall to the fake-living room. then, a mildly panicked “oh my god, jihoon, are you okay?!” (daniel), followed by off-key laughter and something that sounds a lot like “just leave me here to die, hyung”, except it’s so slurred, woojin isn’t sure.

“told you.” the stranger nudges woojin and wiggles his eyebrows at him, triumphant. the motion is so exaggerated that woojin can’t help but to let out a soft chuckle. cute, he thinks, despite the situation. and then: what the fuck, woojin. not now.

(there’s more yelling in the background – “jihoon, sweetie, i think you need a break” (sungwoon) followed by an audibly distressed “i came out here to have a good time and i honestly feel so attacked right now” (hyunbin) and a “shut up hyunbin” (donghan). crash. clatter. woojin thinks it sounds a lot that strange figure he’d seen in the corner earlier. then: “oh fuck, that thing was expensive” (daniel). yeah. it was bound to happen, really.)

“i’m not drunk either,” the stranger says suddenly. woojin diverts his attention away from the scene in the living room. maybe he should actually try to listen this time.

“i know i may seem like i am, but i only had one drink,” the guy continues, “and i mixed like, half a bottle of cola into that.”

that’s where his cola went, woojin thinks. he nods in acknowledgement.

“i’m picking up my exchange student from china in like 5 hours or so,” he explains, pulling at some lose strings on woojin’s frayed jeans, “figured i should probably not ruin the first impression, so i’m staying away from the alcohol tonight.” he laughs. flicks away the remnants of fabric on his fingers.

woojin nods again.

then: “you don’t talk much do you?”

there it is, woojin thinks. another question he’s been expecting to get – has gotten so often, it’s become second nature for him to know what’s coming; prepare a shrug and a smile in response, a standard reflex.

except something about the way the stranger says it is different. there’s no malice behind it, like with everything else the stranger has said to him tonight – but there’s more to it, woojin thinks. it’s impossibly kind; the way he says it, voice soft.

fond, almost.

when woojin finally looks into the stranger’s eyes, like he should have half an hour ago when he first started talking to him, they’re twinkling again. at least this time it makes sense, he thinks. it’s pretty, the way the light is reflected in his eyes – looks even prettier with the smile the guy’s giving him.

woojin thinks he’s seen this before.

 

(it’s dumb, the way it happens.

but woojin can’t bring himself to forget – the faint speckle of stars in the sky, the moon hanging high over their heads. jihoon talking animatedly, hands waving about wildly. he’d found it endearing then, despite having to scoot away in danger of getting hit in the face.

(he hadn’t. scooted away, that is. jihoon had hit him square in the face about four times, then stuck out his tongue at him defiantly. woojin had simply shaken his head in response, chuckling quietly at jihoon’s antics; too caught up in the moment. so help him)

and – he still does, actually. find it endearing – terribly, so. even as he sits ten tables away from jihoon at lunch, absentmindedly flipping through his textbook while watching him almost whack donghan in the face. he actually does, finally, square in the face, and the memories come flooding back so fast woojin has to slap himself once, then twice before going back to highlighting random passages in his book.

jihoon sticks out his tongue at donghan.

nevermind.

woojin wonders if jihoon still remembers, or whether he’s shoved woojin’s butchered confession somewhere into the farthest corner of his mind just to be able to look at him again. wonders if jihoon had looked at him that night; seen seoul’s lights reflected in his eyes, the small smile playing along his lips; impossibly soft.

fond, almost. or – well. definitely.

wonders if jihoon had thought he was pretty, too.

donghan whacks jihoon right back. jihoon yells, scandalized, but then starts laughing, donghan following right after. woojin drops his gaze and directs his focus back to his music theory notes.

yeah. probably not.)

  
oh.

 

* * *

 

the third hour sees woojin finding out the following:  
  


kang daniel has a younger sister. her name is kang mina and her bedroom walls are painted the color of woojin’s favorite obnoxiously pink pajama set he’d been gifted by none other than park jihoon. no – he doesn’t like pink, the thing just happens to be really comfortable okay. and no – he hasn’t been creeping around daniel’s house in another overzealous attempt to avoid jihoon. also, the stranger’s name is ahn hyungseob and he’s a broadcasting major, like jihoon. hence their acquaintanceship.

oh, and jihoon’s laugh sounds just a little manic when he’s drunk. almost like jaehwan’s, but not quite as alarming.

  
still; it’s enough to startle woojin and hyungseob out of their little moment. woojin wouldn’t exactly call it that, but. yeah, it’s exactly that, he supposes. he still doesn’t know what to make of the faint realization he’d come to but – there’s more important matters at hand.

hah. that could’ve made for a good pun, woojin thinks as hyungseob grabs his hand to drag him out of the living room. the wall of the frankly redundant, but also kind of cool secret entrance is pushed aside the moment they make it through the living room door. the real one, this time.

(woojin hears jihoon’s just short of manic laugh fill the room. quite frankly, he’s a little worried about him at this point – especially when he hears another crash, followed by loud wailing (jihoon) and a string of expletives (daniel). that must’ve been the second figure, for sure. part of him hopes that daniel takes good care of jihoon.)  
  


after that, there’s a lot of running.

hyungseob doesn’t let go of his hand, for some reason, and woojin is too polite to forcefully rip it out of his grasp. whatever – it’s comfortable enough, he guesses. besides, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with hyungseob’s hurried steps otherwise.

there’s stairs. a corridor. another set of stairs. at some point they pass by a door that’s slightly ajar; a beam of light from inside flooding into the corridor. woojin’s pretty sure he sees legs sticking out of a bathtub, but he’s whisked off by hyungseob before he can check.

(it’s not daehwi – it’s minhyun and jaehwan, tangled into a knot in the bathtub, belting out korean trot classics, donghyun tells him later. daehwi and sungwoon have made themselves a nest in the shower. that’s how donghyun finds them – cuddling each other while wistfully singing ioi’s downpour. woojin’s lucky they never thought to turn on the showerhead for added effect.)

hyungseob comes to a sudden halt in front of a closed door. woojin almost crashes into him but manages to regain his balance in time.

“mina-yah!” hyungseob shouts, knocking at the door, his right hand still grasping woojin’s left. woojin wonders whether he’s doing this on purpose.

the door doesn’t budge.

hyungseob knocks a little louder. woojin has brief flashbacks to daehwi’s doorbell antics.

again; there’s no response. they stand in silence for a couple of seconds, hyungseob idly swinging their hands back and forth. until –

“i’m not taking in your drunk friends again, daniel! take care of them yourself!”

poor girl, woojin thinks. he can’t image daniel sending a half-passed out jihoon upstairs to sadly roll around on his sister’s bedroom floor, where he’s at less of a risk to break another family heirloom. except yeah – he kind of can, actually.

“mina-yah! it’s seobie-oppa!” hyungseob lilts, voice saccharine sweet.

cute, woojin thinks. cringe, he also thinks. he turns to hyungseob.

“seobie-oppa, huh,” he says.

hyungseob blushes and promptly drops woojin’s hand.

cute.

“ahn hyungseob – ” he starts, “ it’s short. for hyungseob, i mean,” he stammers out. woojin’s genuinely surprised at how flustered hyungseob appears to be. not that he isn’t thoroughly enjoying it.

the door is ripped open, frankly with a lot more force than necessary, revealing kang mina – clad in her pajamas, arms crossed in front of her chest, looking profoundly pissed off. her gaze softens a little when she spots hyungseob’s pleading look; eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out just that little bit.

“fine, come in,” she sighs and grabs both of them by their arms to pull them into the room, kicking the door shut with her foot.

it closes to the sound of wistful wailing from the bathroom on the other side of corridor.

 

this is how woojin finds himself in kang mina’s light pink room, sitting cross-legged on her white carpet.

hyungseob is sprawled out on her bed, head hanging off the edge. mina – who’s a senior in high school, but only a month younger than woojin himself, he finds out, is sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop.

“so. spill,” hyungseob speaks up after a minute of peaceful silence.

woojin’s lifts up his head from where he’s absentmindedly playing around with the soft fabric of the carpet. “what do you mean?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“ _what do you mean_ ,” hyungseob mimics and rolls around so that he’s lying on his stomach, “what do you think, huh.”

woojin is only mildly offended at hyungseob’s bad impression of his voice. he also genuinely doesn’t have a clue what he’s on about.

“i just spent half an hour assisting you in your grand escape and this is what i get?” hyungseob asks in mock-indignation. he rolls himself off the bed, landing with a dull thud and a quiet “ouch”. woojin swears he hears mina whisper “idiot” from her desk.

hyungseob plants himself right in front woojin, head propped up on his elbow.

“oh.” woojin responds, for lack of anything better to say.

hyungseob stares at him, expectant.

“you mean jihoon,” woojin says lamely.

mina’s head snaps up at the mention of jihoon. “are you talking about park jihoon?” she asks, swirling around in her office chair, suddenly interested in their conversation.

woojin nods. out of the corner of his eye he sees hyungseob shaking his head frantically, hand making a cut throat gesture. he decides to write it off as another one of his antics.

“you know jihoon?” woojin asks, even though he knows the answer already. well, it doesn’t hurt to ask, does it. (it does, actually. every single reaffirmation that the entirety of seoul and their mom seems to somehow know of jihoon in one way or another is just. well. woojin just can’t relate, okay.)

“who doesn’t know jihoon.” mina shrugs.

( _who doesn’t know jihoon_ , woojin mouths along.)

“anyway, you were saying – ?” hyungseob prompts him, scooting closer to woojin, face way too close to his again. woojin looks away pointedly in silent refusal to answer the question. hyungseob resorts to repeatedly poking his cheek.

jesus, woojin thinks. he has his fair share of touchy friends but hyungseob really takes the cake, despite hardly being a friend to woojin. and he’s damn persistent too.

“why,” woojin questions and gently removes hyungseob’s finger from his cheek, “do you want to know so badly.”

hyungseob finally retracts his hand from woojin’s face but moves them to his shoulders instead. it’s a firm grip – the kind that screams both _you aren’t going anywhere_ and _let me tell you a story, son_. woojin’s both reassured and a little scared. also confused.

“woojin.” hyungseob says. he pauses dramatically.

(woojin doesn’t recall ever telling him his name. could it be? someone finally knows his name, despite never having spoken to him? woojin shakes off that idea. he probably just overheard someone talking to him earlier in the living room. yeah. that must’ve been it. he’s not jihoon, after all.)

woojin waits. behind him, the furious typing has stopped, indicating that mina’s probably listening. well, they are seeking refuge in her room – woojin supposes it’s her good right to listen. frankly, he wishes he’d just locked himself in the bathroom with jaehwan and minhyun, or whoever it is that is occupying the bathtub right now.

“i just wanna help you, okay?” hyungseob finally says, smiling reassuringly. it’s sweet, really – except his eyebrows are lifted in mock enthusiasm and his voice sounds just a little too saccharine. ( _chop-chop-chop_ , woojin suddenly remembers. he shudders internally. not now, flashback-youngmin.)

“also,” hyungseob continues and abruptly drops the smile, “i could’ve just fed you right to daniel and jihoon earlier in the living room, you know that. i owe you nothing, stranger.”

touché.

woojin sighs and wriggles himself out of hyungseob’s grasp. hyungseob pouts cutely but finally removes himself from woojin’s sacred personal space. (woojin finally releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.)

“fine,” he huffs out. he hears mina’s office chair rolling towards them.

a dramatic pause. because woojin can, that’s why.

“just spill it boy,” mina says impatiently, abandoning her chair for the carpet. “i don’t have all day.”

(you could, just, not. like – try to evade my privacy, woojin wants to say but doesn’t. remember woojin – you’re probably getting all that rainwater from earlier all over her white carpet right now. learn how to be grateful, brat.

it’s only a little concerning how the voice in his head sounds a lot like youngmin’s.)

“fine,” woojin repeats, “we –“

hyungseob leans forward, eyes wide in anticipation.

“– fought.”

hyungseob slaps himself in the face. it looks a little like he’s trying to facepalm, except it sounds a bit too aggressive to be just that. next to him, mina’s face contorts into a grimace as she mouths “ouch” and “idiot”, seemingly at the same time. woojin doesn’t know how, but yeah, mina. same.

hyungseob surges forward and proceeds to shake woojin by his shoulders. it’s really a lot less dramatic than it sounds – just a mild rocking motion, if anything. woojin sighs in exasperation, strangely used to his antics already.

“okay, relax, i’ll tell you!” he yells, just to get hyungseob off of him. hyungseob releases him promptly, and goes back to cutely resting his face in his hands. it’d be a lot cuter if woojin couldn’t see the evil inside those pretty eyes. he’s gonna have to leave this party knowing that he can trust no one but himself. what a lonesome existence, truly.

“but only if she leaves the room.”

 _“what – !_ ”

  
(it goes like this: 

woojin and jihoon are the best of friends. bound together by their birth year, a habit of shying away from large groups and a passion for dancing, they brave their embarrassing high school years side by side – not inseparable, but almost.

there’s a lot of bickering; some mild violence. the occasional slap to the face that never really hurts because most of it is bad slapstick comedy anyway. the occasional kiss on the cheek that the other will always try to fight off because _there’s no time for affection in this merciless world, jihoon_.

ah. and then there’s the accidental rooftop confession.

yikes.

  
on days when woojin and jihoon aren’t busy fighting each other, they’re mostly just friends who spend a lot of time together.

just guys being dudes, jihoon calls it as he feeds woojin a spoonful of his elaborate ice cream order. or, well, shoves it into his mouth, actually, because right – there’s no time for affection in this merciless world.

just guys being dudes, woojin thinks as he looks at jihoon one day and feels his heart beating a little faster. it’s barely anything, really – leaves woojin with nothing but sweaty hands whenever they walk next to each other, hands swinging close; a heightened awareness of his words when they talk, sometimes. a faint realization that this was bound to happen, sooner or later.

just guys being dudes, watching the stars on a clear tuesday night.

like with every regrettable decision, it’s a spur of the moment thing. jihoon shows up at their apartment at 10pm, unannounced and eyes twinkling with excitement. woojin isn’t sure why he lets himself be dragged along when he’s got an unfinished essay sitting at home, to be handed in before the day ends. isn’t sure why he couldn’t just have kept his mouth shut, in hindsight.

instead, he blurts out: “i like you.”

jihoon turns to him, eyes wide. there’s no room for misunderstandings, huddled together on their small blanket in the middle of the rooftop. not with the way woojin has his hand clasped over his mouth, ears red.

“oh,” jihoon says after a while.

“i’m sorry,” woojin responds.  
  
jihoon doesn’t look at him for the rest of the week.)

  
mina refuses to leave the room. woojin’s lucky she doesn’t throw him out, actually, too keen on hearing about woojin’s grand fuck-up. at least she’s nice about it.

“i won’t tell, don’t worry.” she pats his cheek lightly and throws hyungseob a pointed look. her voice is apologetic, but woojin has a feeling it isn’t particularly directed at him. hyungseob narrows his eyes at her and shoos her away with his hands.

“the disrespect,” mina gasps but stands up anyway to return to her desk.

hyungseob turns back to him and props his head up on his elbow. woojin directs his attention back to the carpet, occasionally picking at a loose strand of fabric, eyes flitting between hyungseob and the floor.

“you know,” hyungseob finally says after staring him down for a good couple of seconds, “he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

behind him, mina starts coughing.

“w–what?” woojin stutters out. he feels the blood rushing to his face.

“you’re too good for him,” hyungseob says nonchalantly and smiles at him.

“how would you know?” woojin retorts, perplexed at how certain hyungseob sounds, despite only having known him for a grand total of an hour, give or take.

(part of him wants to believe it – that he’s too good for jihoon. that jihoon would’ve never deserved him anyway. he knows it’s not true; that, if anything, it’s him who will never live up to the person that jihoon is. he shouldn’t be buying into a complete stranger’s words – yet, there’s something about the conviction in hyungseob’s voice.

woojin wonders what it is.)

“i just do.” hyungseob shrugs. he extends his hand, as if to take woojin's but stops himself, furrowing his eyebrows.

“you’re all red, are you okay?”

 

it is moments like these, where woojin’s rationale fails him.

by all means, he’s aware that hyungseob most likely knows what he’s doing – is probably just asking because he’s having fun. asshole.

and woojin; he really could just. shrug or something, gently shove hyungseob away and laugh away the awkward atmosphere. or grin it away, whatever works.

alas.

“i’m allergic to orange juice,” he blurts out instead. he points at the cup of orange juice he’s somehow managed to hold on to for the better half of the night.

yes, woojin. good job. he should give himself a pat on the back for that, he thinks. knock himself out while he’s at it. god.

mina starts coughing again. frankly, it sounds a lot like she’s trying to cover up her laughter. woojin doesn’t blame her.

hyungseob stares at him, dumbfounded.

“if you’re allergic to it,” hyungseob picks up the half empty cup, eyeing it’s contents warily, “then why did you drink it?”

yeah, woojin. why’d you.

“i –,” he starts but trails off. honestly, how does he even talk himself out of this without making himself look like even more of a fool.

ah, yeah. he doesn’t, that’s what, apparently.

“i live life on the edge,” he says and flashes hyungseob a signature grin, before taking the cup of juice from his hands and downing it in one go. “yolo, am i right?”

yolo. what the actual fuck, woojin.

hyungseob nods slowly, mouth agape. mina is openly wheezing by now, hands frantically hitting the desk. at least he makes for good entertainment, woojin thinks.

“you’re okay, though?” hyungseob asks, skeptic.

woojin nods enthusiastically and gives hyungseob a thumbs up, his other hand crumpling up the now empty plastic cup. (and if his nails dig past the plastic and into his skin a little deeper than necessary then honestly, he deserves it. why. are you like this. woojin.)

hyungseob nods again.

“okay. i’m glad.”

“enough,” mina chokes out, still recovering from woojin’s mishap it appears. she pushes herself away from her desk and yanks open the door to her room. woojin might be seeing things, but he swears there’s unshed tears in her eyes. good to know that she got a good kick out of seeing woojin make a complete fool of himself. he’s glad he could help, really.

“i need to get some sleep.” she makes shooing motions at them. when neither of them budge, she sighs and strides over to them, yanking them up by their arms. woojin’s just a little startled by how easily she manhandles them.

“out, now,” she orders and pushes both of them out into the hallway. hyungseob’s opens his mouth to protest but shuts it again when he spots mina’s glare. quite frankly, woojin’s a bit scared too.

“go get your man!” she cheers, looking at no one in particular. she does a halfhearted fighting and fakes an encouraging grin.

  
then she shuts the door in their faces.

 

* * *

 

in a moment of carelessness, woojin runs into jihoon in the kitchen.  
  


it’s not much of a collision, really – woojin enters the kitchen, too absorbed in some kind of trivial conversation with hyungseob to think about jihoon’s whereabouts. jihoon is standing by the counter, half hanging off jinyoung’s arm.

they make eye contact.

that’s it.

except, yeah, no. it isn’t.

jihoon points his finger at woojin, a wonky but clearly triumphant spreading across his face. woojin feels hyungseob tug him by the sleeve, but stays rooted to the ground, eyes still fixated on jihoon who looks like he’s having trouble standing by himself, jinyoung’s arm slung around his waist.

“woojinie!”

jihoon promptly untangles himself from jinyoung and strides towards woojin, before stumbling and falling forward into woojin’s arms, face squished into his shoulder. woojin’s hands come up to his waist to steady him by reflex.

well. this is a little awkward, woojin guesses. (he works hard to ignore the way his heartbeat speeds up just that little bit.)

jihoon lifts his head off woojin’s shoulder and pushes himself closer to him. woojin stands, frozen, hands still on jihoon’s waist.

“woojin,” jihoon slurs, right next to woojin’s ear. there’s a slight lilt to his voice, like he’s smiling. “woojin-ah.”

woojin feels himself growing red at the proximity, hands dropping from jihoon’s waist to push him away by the shoulders. it’s a half-hearted attempt, he admits. jihoon doesn’t move – clings to him a little more instead.

“woojinie,” he whispers and pulls woojin’s head closer to his, “i’m sorry.”

oh.

sorry. jihoon’s sorry.

that’s it.

woojin stands still for a moment, before shoving jihoon back into jinyoung’s arm. it’s a gentle shove, despite woojin’s confusion; the feeling of aggravation that is growing by the second.

he’s sorry. woojin doesn’t even know what he’s sorry about. rejecting woojin? ignoring him that night? driving woojin into purposely avoiding him, just to spare himself from his half-hearted words whenever they talk; his refusal to meet his eyes, his hurried steps away from him as if woojin was contagious?

jihoon remains unfazed, willingly draping himself over jinyoung again. he’s smiling – at woojin, or at no one in particular, he isn’t sure.

sorry, huh.

woojin’s sorry too, then. sorry that he fell in love with jihoon. sorry that he’d overestimated the value of their friendship, apparently. fuck you, jihoon, he thinks. (and then – i miss you, jihoon. he curses himself for holding onto this, but. not yet. he’ll get over it, eventually.)

sungwoon comes rushing over, taking over jihoon from a helpless-looking jinyoung.

“drink this,” he says and fills up a glass with tap water, before shoving it in jihoon’s hands. jihoon complies and brings it to his lips, water sloshing onto his shirt.

hyungseob tugs at his at his sleeve again.

this time, woojin lets himself be dragged away.

 

hyungseob, it turns out, maneuvers them through the living room, right onto the patio. woojin feels his socks soaking up water the instant he steps out. whatever. they never dried anyway.

beside him, he catches hyungseob looking down at the darkening fabric of his socks.

“oh,” he remarks, a little surprised. and then:

“are you okay?”

woojin turns away from him, but nods. by now, night has fallen over the city, leaving the two of them to stand in the blinding light of the patio lanterns. the music’s still turned all the way up, the door wide open. woojin wonders how they haven’t gotten any complaints from daniel’s neighbors yet.

but yeah. they’ll be fine, he thinks. and even if things never fall back into place – they had a good run.

maybe jihoon isn’t worth it, after all.

“you know – ” hyungseob speaks up, but is abruptly interrupted by daniel who comes bounding past them, seongwoo following close after. he’s holding a football, woojin realizes. he’s also shirtless.

classic daniel, really.

“KANG DANIEL!”

woojin turns around to find jisung leaning against the doorframe, looking thoroughly scandalized and a little out of breath.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR SHIRT?!”

daniel looks at them, confused, but then shrugs.

“ball is life, hyung!” he yells and proceeds to throw the football to seongwoo. seongwoo catches it with ease and nods in agreement, before throwing it back to daniel.

what a thrilling game, woojin thinks.

(he’d probably join in if he weren’t so out of it right now, if he’s honest. he can never pass up on a good game of catch – even if it means being exposed to daniel’s naked torso for prolonged periods of time. ball, he agrees, is indeed life. after dancing, that is.)

jisung furrows his eyebrows for a second but then nods his head to the side as if to acknowledge the logic of daniel’s completely unrelated answer. then, he removes himself from the doorframe, pushing past woojin to skip out onto the lawn.

“daniel!” he shouts, voice trailing off into a singsong. either that, or he’s slurring – woojin can’t really tell. “catch!”

jisung throws something in daniel’s general direction. woojin doesn’t recognizes it at first, eyes still adjusting to the dark – until it passes through a beam of light from the lantern.

it’s jisung’s pear. complete with a smeared drawing of a face, and all.

daniel catches it. he regards it with a bewildered expression. in front of him, jisung is waiting with his hands outstretched. for a second, woojin thinks that he’s going to go along with jisung’s drunk antics.

then he throws it over the fence.

nevermind.

jisung screams, a mixture between horrified and sorrowful. woojin almost feels sorry.

“my _pear_ ,” jisung wails and runs towards the fence, “ _where is it?!_ ”

daniel watches him for a second, clearly not understanding the apparent gravity of his actions, before shrugging it off and continuing his game of catch.

unbelievable.

woojin makes a mental note to remind jisung just who exactly murdered his pear in cold blood tonight, just in case he forgets. he can’t let daniel get away with such a ruthless act, after all.

(no, this isn’t woojin being petty about daniel’s earlier attempts to sell him out to jihoon. he’s over that. 100%. yes, he’s absolutely sure.)

woojin is just about to step out onto the lawn to help jisung in his hopeless search for his fruity child, even though they’d both seen in fly straight over the fence somewhere into the neighbors’ garden, when he hears laughter. it’s quiet, coming out in burst of giggles, a little muffled.

he turns around to find hyungseob, palm covering his mouth, thin frame shaking with laughter. it’s an endearing sight, woojin admits, eyes growing fond.

hyungseob looks up, feeling woojin’s gaze on him.

their eyes meet.

then, they both burst into full-fledged laughter.

  
there’s something strangely liberating about this, woojin thinks. it’s not like he’s been living his life in greyscales, head hung low, a frown etched onto his face ever since that night – but something about that rings true, he guesses. even if it’s just the way his smile slips whenever jihoon is mentioned; the growing awareness of empty spaces next to him where jihoon’s hand used to swing, brushing his occasionally.

frankly, there hadn’t been many spaces to begin with, ever since university started – with their schedules that rarely ever overlapped; the constant buzz of life settling back into place just a little differently than before. and at some point, woojin had begun filling his empty spaces with new faces, new hands swinging next to his.

(jihoon’s are still the prettiest though, woojin thinks, despite being lined with cracks from being so dry, nails bitten down to the quick. but, he admits – jaehwan’s come pretty damn close.)

still – it’s unfamiliar. the feeling comes to haunt him only on off days, usually nothing but an occasional tug at his heart, a fleeting thought about their high school days. but these days, with jihoon almost completely out of his life, it’s a little more prominent; something akin to an empty shadow next to him on the ground.

oh and truthfully. he just hasn’t laughed like this in a long time.

they stand there, just laughing, for what feels like way too long.

daniel and seongwoo barely spare them a glance, too absorbed in their game. jisung has trudged back inside, uttering threats about not being afraid to rob daniel of another one of his pears. woojin’s socks, he believes, have finally reached their holding capacity for rainwater, fully soaked and also not nearly as white as he remembers them to be.

at some point, hyungseob grabs woojin’s arm to steady himself. he’s still shaking, albeit not quite as wildly as before. what woojin doesn’t expect, however, is for hyungseob to rest his weight against his. he stumbles forwards, hand coming up to soften the impact, but hyungseob pulls him back up in time.

the laughter subsides.

woojin feels his heart racing, a remnant of faint shock from his near fall. yeah, that’s it. not hyungseob’s hand still holding onto his again.

not at all.

“you know,” hyungseob breaks the short silence, finally releasing his hand. he pauses and turns to face woojin, eyes soft. “he talks about you a lot.”

huh.

“jihoon, i mean,” hyungseob clarifies. “i sit next to him in visual communication. he mentions you a lot –you know. it’s always woojinie this, woojin that.”

woojin remains silent, not knowing what to do with this piece of information.

“i actually counted the other day, just to be able to hold it against him – he dropped your name a solid ten times in 50 minutes. that’s every five minutes, man.” hyungseob chuckles.

the other day, huh.

“that’s how i know your name, by the way,” hyungseob continues, unfazed by woojin’s lack of response, “if you were wondering.”

woojin nods slowly, still out of it.

“anyway.” hyungseob clears his throat lightly, snapping woojin out of his stupor. “i think you should talk to him.”

what.

“i know you have good reasons to avoid him – i would too, to be honest – but i think there’s a lot of things that jihoon needs to tell you.”

woojin blinks owlishly, mouth opening as if to say something. hyungseob looks at him, eyes waiting but still gentle.

(for a split second, woojin thinks – maybe this is another person he could fill up the empty spaces with. hyungseob’s hands swinging next to his, his booming voice loud enough to make up for all the vacancies jihoon left behind. that doesn’t sound so bad.

he blinks again. this isn’t the time, woojin.)

“besides,” hyungseob adds, “it’d be a shame. to lose a friendship like that.”

he smiles. it’s encouraging; like he’s trying his best to push woojin towards better decisions – yet, woojin swears he sees something faintly bitter in it. maybe he’s just imagining things. yeah. that must be it.

woojin nods. and then he says: “okay.”

it’s a little clumsy, the way he says it, comes out chipped at the end – like an empty promise. he means it, though. he’ll try. woojin wouldn’t be woojin if he didn’t at least do that much. it’s too early to be losing friendships, anyway.

hyungseob smiles. this time, it looks genuine; proud almost. woojin feels the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“ _thank you_ ” he wants to say. he settles for grinning instead; eyes crinkling, snaggletooth on full display.

hyungseob claps his hands together, as if to lighten the atmosphere. “great!” he says, voice booming. then, he stretches his pinkie out to woojin.

“promise me.”

woojin huffs out a quiet laugh. a pinkie promise. of course.

cute.

he links his pinkie with hyungseob’s. “promise.”

“cool!” hyungseob claps his hands again. he looks down at his watch. “i really need to get going, by the way.”

oh. woojin checks his own watch. 00:30am, it blinks at him. maybe he should start looking for daehwi.

hyungseob turns to leave, but looks back at woojin, still standing out on the patio.

“tell jihoon hyungseob said hi!” he shouts, taking a few steps in the direction of the living room door.

woojin steps away from the patio and nods, smiling fondly.

“ahn hyungseob!” he shouts, “don’t forget me!”

as if. woojin makes an “ok” sign with his hand, before waving at hyungseob’s retreating figure.

hyungseob grins. then he winks at him.

  
woojin runs into the glass door.

 

(donghyun finds him a couple of minutes later, face still pressed against the door. “you okay?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry. woojin nods, albeit a little dazedly, taking note of daehwi who’s trailing behind donghyun, holding his hand.

“what are you doing here, hyung?” woojin questions, finally stepping away from the door. he catches daehwi looking at him, eyes narrowed. whatever. at least he’s still got both of his eyes.

“saving you from cold blooded murder,” donghyun answers and promptly grabs woojin’s hand, dragging him and daehwi towards the door.

they make it home by 01:53am.

youngmin opens the door for them, looking reasonably pissed off. the murderous glint, woojin notes, has mostly fizzled down into a tired glare that softens when he spots daehwi yawning, sleeve covered hands squishing together his cheeks.

woojin sighs inwardly, relieved.

all is well.

“ _wait_. where’s the potato salad?”

  
close enough.)

 

* * *

 

+1

(woojin doesn’t see jihoon again until tuesday, at the committee assembly for the annual campus festival. they nod at each other, quietly acknowledging each other’s presence, before they are carried away by their respective crowds.

it’s a start, at least.

to his dismay, he doesn't spot hyungseob anywhere. admittedly, he’d been curious to see the boy again. he probably isn’t even part of the festival lineup. woojin’s only a little disappointed, he swears.

when he finally sits down in their designated row, just a little too far away from the stage for woojin to be able to actually make out anything, he finds jisung in the seat next to his, casually munching on a pear.

frankly, woojin doesn’t know why he bothers to ask.

“is that…” he trails off, pointing at the pear in jisung’s hands. jisung grins, and turns the pear around to reveal a sloppy drawing of a face.

“he climbed over the fence to get it. my neighbors almost called the cops on him,” daniel comments from behind jisung, visibly exasperated.

jisung only shrugs, taking another bite of his pear.

“what?” he grumbles at sungwoon who’s sitting in the row in front of them, watching jisung with a mildly disturbed expression on his face. sungwoon points at the still intact face, silently judging.

“i was hungry, okay!” jisung defends. “besides, i’m not gonna eat the face, calm down.”

he looks at it fondly, booping the smudged nose with his finger before continuing to munch at the other side.

woojin shakes his head in fond disbelief and turns back to face the stage.

yeah. sure.

why not.)

**Author's Note:**

> the pear thing was a lot funnier in person, please believe me. there was no fence climbing and trespassing though, my friend just stole another one from the fruit bowl. 
> 
> the poem that woojin recites in his texts is "beside a chrysanthenum" by seo jungju, if anyone was wondering.
> 
> thank you for reading! i hope you have a lovely day!


End file.
